Mr. And Miss Anonymous

by Fern Michaels

  Lily looked Pete up and down and laughed. He looked like a beach bum in long pants and high-top Converse sneakers that had seen better days. Pete correctly interpreted Lily’s look and laughter.

  “ ‘Always keep ’em off center’ is my motto. Listen, if Tessie calls, interrupt me.”

  “No problem. It’s kind of early for a call, though.”

  “Tessie Dancer marches to a different drummer. If you don’t believe me, just ask Zolly.”

  While Pete waited for Zolly and the reporter, he watched a young woman exit one of the villas with her poodle on a leash. Winston growled, and the woman scooped up the little dog and scurried down the flower-bordered path.

  Pete’s mind raced. He’d lied to Lily. He knew exactly what he was going to say the minute he opened his mouth. He hoped more than anything in the world that Josh Baer was someplace where he had access to a television so he could see the short interview. He also hoped the news channel would air the sound bite throughout the day. If only he could be so lucky.

  If there was one thing Pete Kelly hated, it was men with hard-hat hair. The reporter, who said his name was Carlson Cook, had so much hair-spray on his hair that gale-force winds wouldn’t have caused a strand to move out of place. They did the manly handshake, even Winston.

  “So, Mr. Kelly, to what does the fine state of California owe this visit? Are you buying up something to send Wall Street into a feeding frenzy?”

  Pete forced a laugh he didn’t feel. “No. I came out here to a fund-raiser at my alma mater and decided to stay on for a few days. I’m doing a search on something personal.”

  “Do you care to share what that might be?” the reporter simpered.

  “Well, sure. I’m looking for 8446.”

  Whatever the reporter was expecting by way of a response, this wasn’t it. “What’s 8446?”

  Pete smiled. “That’s why it’s personal.”

  “If you find or locate the mysterious 8446, will it drive Wall Street over the edge?”

  “It might,” Pete said with a straight face. “By the way, I’m going to step down and retire to my ranch in Montana.”

  “That is news! Now I know the market will go off the charts. When will that happen, Mr. Kelly?”

  “As soon as I find 8446. I’d like to talk more, but I have a meeting scheduled. Nice meeting and talking with you, Mr. Cook.” Pete offered up his hand, the two men shook hands, then it was Winston’s turn.

  Back inside, Pete pressed his ear to the door in time to hear Carlson Cook say, “And there you have it, folks. You heard it here first in this exclusive interview with the founder of PAK Industries, Peter Aaron Kelly, and his companion, Winston.”

  “Oh, Pete, that was fantastic. Of all the things I imagined you might say, that never entered my mind. Is Wall Street going to go crazy? I so hope Josh sees the interview. You did good. I knew I liked you for a reason.”

  Pete picked up Lily and swung her around until she squealed for mercy. “I love you, Lily Madison.”

  “And I love you, Pete Kelly,” Lily whispered. “What do we do now?”

  “We wait to hear from Tessie. And Josh, if we’re lucky.”

  “It’s coming down to the wire, isn’t it, Pete?”

  “Yeah, Lily, I think it is.”

  Josh Baer paced Charlie Garrison’s small living room as he waited for Charlie to return. The television was on but he wasn’t paying attention. Instead he called on Tom. “I’m really nervous, Tom. Do you think Charlie can help me?”

  “Yeah, I do. You don’t have anything else going for you right now. He’s a grandfather, Josh. He won’t let you down.”

  “I hope you’re right. Hey, Tom, look at all the pictures Charlie has of his family. I bet his sons don’t even know he keeps their pictures all over the place. I feel bad for him. I’m going to ask him if he wants to be my grandfather even if I’m a stranger. I’ll tell him more about you and Sheila, and I bet he’ll say he’ll be yours, too. If I can get somebody to put up a tombstone for all you guys, I’m going to ask him if it will be all right to put his name on it as your grandfather. I bet he says yes.”

  “That would be so great, Josh. Then we wouldn’t be nameless. I never liked being a number. Sheila didn’t like it either.”

  “That’s because it’s not right.”

  “Josh! Josh! Look at the television. There’s that guy Jesse drew. Listen.”

  Josh stood transfixed as he stared at the man speaking intently on the screen. For one wild, crazy minute it looked like the man was talking directly to him.

  “Oh, man, did you hear what he just said? He’s looking for you. For 8446. The guy is on television and he’s saying your number. Oh, shit, buddy, is that good or is it bad?” Tom asked.

  “I know who he is, he’s the guy from the library and the academy. He’s looking for me. Why? Is it possible he’s a good guy?” Josh asked in a shaky voice.

  “Mr. Dickey told us about him, how he started from nothing and built his company up to the billion-dollar company it is today. He’s famous, and he’s Midas-rich. He looks like you, Josh, just older. What do you think that means? How can he look like you? Do you think he’s got a number, too? Maybe he’s your brother or something since he looks like you. Yeah, yeah, I bet he’s your brother.”

  “Dammit, I don’t know. He doesn’t look…evil. Maybe I should call him up.”

  Tom laughed. “Yeah, half the world would love to call up Peter Aaron Kelly. That’s like trying to call the president of the United States.”

  “Then why did he say what he did? He’s looking for 8446. That’s me. He looks like me. That has to mean something. Or, was it a warning to let me know he’s coming after me? What do you think, Tom?”

  “For a rich guy, he sure did look strange. He looked like Mr. Dickey on Field Day. I agree with you that he seemed to be looking right at you. Maybe he said something in code we’re supposed to figure out.”

  Josh snorted. “Code? Get real. Where do you think he is?”

  “Someplace only rich people can afford to stay. It looked like there was a Spanish villa behind him. We saw them in a travelogue when we were studying about Spain. Remember? You could call a travel agency and ask them what’s the biggest and most expensive hotel in this area. Or you could go online and not make a phone call.”

  Josh was about to head into the bedroom to use Charlie’s computer when Charlie let himself into the apartment carrying a bag that said TARGET on the front. Josh started to jabber all at once while he pointed to the television.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Slow down, big fella, and start all over.”

  Josh took a great, gulping breath and managed to get his story out in one long, breathless sentence.

  “Are you telling me the guy who founded PAK Industries is the man you saw on TV and the same man your friend Jesse captured in his drawing? The same guy from the library and the academy?”

  “Yeah, Charlie, that’s what I’m telling you. So, is he a good guy or a bad guy? How’d he find out about the number 8446? No one but us kids and the people at the school knew…know about the numbers. I guess that means he’s one of them.”

  “Slow down, Josh. Let’s think this through. It doesn’t have to mean he’s one of them. He could have come by the number legitimately. Maybe it means something to him, and this was his way of telling you so you would reach out to him.”

  Josh started to pace again. “Telling me what? He should have told me how to reach him if he’s a good guy. He said he’s going to retire to Montana. That doesn’t mean anything to me. What do you really think, Charlie?”

  “I think we should call his office once we find out where it is. We can call on this TracFone I just bought. First, though, we have to set it all up and charge it. That’s going to take a while. While I do that, go online and find out where Mr. Kelly’s headquarters are. And check out five-star hotels in the vicinity. It’s going to be okay, Josh. I have a good feeling about this.”

  “I don’t have a good feelin
g, Charlie. Neither does Tom. Do you think maybe he’s my older brother, and that’s how he knows about the number?”

  “I know you want me to say yes, but I can’t. I just don’t know, son.”

  Chapter 25

  Tessie Dancer eyed the storefront local office of Senator Hudson Preston. She’d heard someone say once, someone who didn’t want to be quoted, that politicians’ storefront offices were for the little people to come and plead their cases and to walk away with an autographed picture. She wondered if the senator would move this particular location to something a little bigger and grander once his hat was officially in the ring for a presidential run.

  Hudson Preston, son of Douglas Preston, founder of Preston Pharmaceuticals, bigger than everyone except Merck and Pfizer. A multibillion-dollar industry. Billion with a b. Hudson Preston, with the trophy wife, the first wife languishing in Carmel-by-the-Sea with a dizzying payout to free him up for the trophy wife. There were grandchildren, too, brought out for photo ops from time to time.

  Tessie wondered if it was worth going to Carmel to talk to the first wife and to look up the grown children. Maybe a conference call or a videotaped call. She recalled that the first Mrs. Preston did not like the limelight, ditto for the son and daughter, who had forcefully said they wanted nothing to do with politics. Or with the senator, though that part was mumbled under their breath, or so her colleague who had interviewed them told it. But they were perfectly content to take his money. In any event, it was something to think about.

  Once she found a parking space, Tessie sauntered down the tree-shaded sidewalk and entered the building. Three nerdy-looking individuals looked up at the same time, curious expressions on their faces. Clearly there weren’t all that many visitors to the senator’s local office. It also looked like the small staff wasn’t expecting the senator. Did Little Slick get his information wrong? Did the senator go to his home first, maybe to freshen up? Well, she was here, so she might as well make the best of it. First, though, she had to call Pete Kelly to find out how the early-morning interview went. She held up her hand to indicate the three nerds should wait a moment while she made a phone call. Pete picked up on the first ring.

  “How’d it go, Pete?”

  Looking through the plate glass window, her eyes on the foot traffic as well as on the vehicular traffic, Tessie spoke quickly. “Give it to me word for word.” Pete did. “That’s good. Do you think the boy will call your headquarters?”

  “I can only hope. I called the office, and everyone is on alert. There will be a rash of other calls, I can guarantee it, so they’ll have to sift through them. My people know what to do, so there’s no worry on that end. They’ll give him my and Lily’s cell phone numbers. By the way, I packaged up the boy’s suit and had one of the guards take it to the airport. That, too, is in good hands at the moment. We’ll know soon if his DNA is a match for mine.”

  “Good going, Pete. I’ll get back to you,” Tessie said. Then she noticed a black Town Car about to pull to the curb in front of the storefront. She quickly snapped the phone shut and pocketed it as she turned around to face the three nerdy-looking staff members.

  “Tess Dancer from the Chronicle,” Tessie said as she flipped open her wallet to show her press card. “I heard Senator Preston was in town. I thought I’d get an early start and see if he wants to do an interview. Well, will you look at that!” she said, pointing to the curb outside. “Talk about a reporter’s dumb luck.” Tessie stepped aside as the door opened, and a gaggle of men walked into the long, narrow room.

  Preston’s megawatt smile lit up the room when he saw and recognized Tessie. “Can’t hide out from you guys nohow,” he said jokingly. “It boggles my mind that I didn’t know I was coming here until last night, yet here you are! What can I do for you, Miss Dancer?”

  “How about a few words for your constituents? In private.”

  “Anything for the press. I’ve always been cooperative, you know that.”

  Tessie forced a smile as she followed the senator to the back of the room, where there was a table with four chairs. One of the aides hustled to get the senator a bottled water. “Can I get you anything, Miss Dancer?” the young woman asked politely.

  “No thanks, I’m good.”

  Tessie turned her attention to the senator. “So, you’re going to make a run for it.”

  The senator turned coy. It was not a becoming expression. “If the people want me, what else can I do? I live to serve my government, you know that, Miss Dancer. It’s how I got to office. I’m on a pretty tight schedule today, so if there’s nothing else…”

  “Well, actually, Senator, there is something else. My readers have written some very strong letters to us at the paper wanting to know why there was a lid put on the shooting at the California Academy of Higher Learning. They want to know why, as their elected official, you aren’t demanding answers. I find it rather odd myself, Senator, so if you’d care to comment, I’d appreciate it.”

  Tessie wondered if it was her imagination or if the senator had stiffened slightly at her question. The man waved his arms expansively.

  “Believe it or not, no one asked for my help, and when I did volunteer, I was told in no uncertain terms that my help wasn’t needed. I know when to retreat. The FBI is a very fine organization, and they know what they’re doing.”

  “By chance, Senator Preston, would it have anything to do with the fact that along with a bunch of other wealthy investors, you had/have, a stake in that school? And while I have you face-to-face, do you care to comment on your ownership of a sperm bank and a fertility clinic here in town?”

  The senator feigned astonishment. “Is it a slow day at the Chronicle, Miss Dancer? Where do you people come up with this stuff?”

  “Hackers!” Tessie said smartly. “The kind that make a living trolling for stuff like this and getting bonuses for a job well done.” She felt pleased to see tiny beads of perspiration blossom on the man’s forehead.

  Senator Preston stood up and held out his hand to signal that the interview was over. “I make it a practice never to comment on gossip.”

  Tessie stood up, towering over the senator, who was a short man. She took a moment to wonder if he had a Napoleon complex. “But that’s the point, Senator, it isn’t gossip. I’m talking about actual records. By the way, by any chance did you see the founder of PAK Industries on television this morning? Maybe you were still en route and missed it. The only reason I mention it is that I remembered a photo op you had with Mr. Kelly a week or so ago. Today he said he was looking for 8446. Any idea what that means?”

  “Now you are talking in riddles. Maybe it’s his lottery number or something. I’ll call you the next time I’m in town, and perhaps we can have breakfast. I don’t like cutting you so short, but I really have to keep to my schedule. Thanks for stopping by.”

  “I expect to be hanging around here a lot from here on in, Senator. I can see myself out.” When she reached the door, Tessie called over her shoulder, “I’ll be sure to quote you verbatim, Senator.” Made you sweat, didn’t I, you little prick.

  The moment the door closed behind the reporter, Hudson Preston shifted into high gear. He issued orders like the general he was, pretended to be interested in what his aides were saying before he waved airily. He stomped from the office and headed straight for the Town Car that would take him to his eighty-plus-year-old father and his palatial mansion.

  By the time the Town Car ground to a stop under the portico, Hudson Preston thought he was going to black out. He could hardly wait to blurt out the news to the old man, who virtually lived on the second floor of the ugly mansion.

  At eighty-six, Douglas Preston was still an imposing figure, and he was ordinarily still capable of making his son cower in his presence, but not today.

  Hudson slammed and locked the door to the lavish sitting room where his father was watching an old Wimbledon tennis match. He reached out a stubby hand to turn off the television. “There’s a reporter a
t the Chronicle who’s figured out what’s been going on. She came to see me this morning. She knows, Father.”

  “That’s impossible,” the old man said, pressing the ON button on the remote.

  Hudson turned off the set again. “Not only does she know, there’s this guy Peter Aaron Kelly, the founder of PAK Industries, who gave an interview on television this morning and announced to the world that he’s looking for 8446. Do you want to know what 8446 is, Father, or do you prefer being kept in the dark?”

  The old man, who still had all his hair, glared at his son. “I’m assuming he was one of the donors. He’ll never find anything. Why do you always get so upset over trivial things? When people like Kelly go on television, it only means he has nothing and is looking for something. I saw the short interview. The man is a disgrace to the garment industry. He looked like a street person. He has a number, and that’s all he has.”

  “Well, guess what, Father! That kid is still on the loose. If those two find a way to meet, your wrinkled old ass is going to be sitting in the slammer. The world won’t give a damn if you gave away free drugs to starving nations or not. All they’re going to see and remember is the slaughter of all those kids and teachers at the academy.”

  “Something else you managed to botch up, Hudson. You were told to oversee that project and, as usual, you fouled it up. God help us all if you ever make it to the White House.”

  The tennis match appeared on the screen again. Hudson turned it off for the third time.

  “I want you to listen to me very carefully, Father. This might surprise you, but that man, Peter Kelly, is quite a bit richer than you are. He has more clout than you ever had. Or I will ever have. People love the man because he does good, wonderful things for mankind and he does them with very little fanfare. Unlike you, and, yes, unlike me. He’s on a mission, and he is not—are you listening to me, Father?—he is not going to give up. On the ride here I accessed the data on my memory stick, and the boy is a match for 8446. That means the kid is Pete Kelly’s son. Now you can say something, Father.”